


Love in a Time of Science

by Moorishflower



Category: Fringe
Genre: Fringe - Freeform, Love, M/M, Science, Slash, Walter/William, m/m - Freeform, walter bishop - Freeform, william bell - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-05
Updated: 2009-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:31:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walter appreciates Dr. Seuss in ways that William can't quite understand</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in a Time of Science

**Love in a Time of Science**

 

“Walter.”

“Hm.”

“_Walter_.”

“Mhm.”

“Walter, please.”

This has been going on for roughly an hour. In his lap, Walter cradles a bright red book with blockish white lettering, decorated with a picture of an outlandish, bear-like creature and a name that William recognizes from his childhood, but does not prescribe any particular loyalty to.

‘_By Dr. Seuss_’

William remembers And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street, and he respects and properly credits (when prompted) what such books did for him during a time when the world seemed to be going mad with war and hate and bigotry. Authors like Seuss, artists and poets and dreamers, all did their part to help create the scientist he is today.

But he has never felt _beholden_ to them.

William sighs, tapping his fingers against the dark top of the lab table, leaning and bent over it as he watches Walter flip through the thin pages. His partner does not look bored, or irritated, or any more insane than usual, so William deduces that he is reading children’s imaginative fiction for recreational purposes, and not because he has to. Which leads him to the assumption that Walter, perhaps, had never read these books as a boy, and wished to catch up.

The notion is immediately dispelled when Walter slowly lifts his eyes from the page and gives William one of his blinding, easygoing smiles. William feels part of his soul (that part of him which his scientific brain insists does not exist, cannot possibly be real) curl and arch like a contented cat beneath that happy gaze.

“You know, I _loved_ these stories when I was a boy,” Walter says, and holds up the thin, red-bound book, whose title now becomes apparent: If I Ran The Zoo.

“And to be honest, I still do,” he continues; William raises an eyebrow, dark and immaculate compared to Walter’s mussed and wildly-curling hair, the two day’s worth of stubble decorating his jaw, the light in his eyes that for others means madness, but for _them_ means the illumination of genius. Pure rapture.

“Such a wealth of imagination,” he murmurs, and strokes his fingers over the book’s spine. William follows their path with his eyes, and then clears his throat.

“An important quality,” he agrees, but moves no closer. To interrupt now would be akin to interrupting a dedicated monk prostrating himself before an icon: sacrilegious.

“Very important. Especially to men in our line of work.”

“Our line of work? We’re scientists, Walter.”

Walter’s eyes gleam. “Partially. We’re _creators_, Belly. We’re _gods_.”

“One nation under Christianity,” William intoned, finally feeling comfortable enough to approach his partner. “If our employers heard you say that they would lock you up and throw away the key.”

“Let them.” Dismissive, now. They’ve been partners and friends for almost six years and for as long as William has known him Walter has ever maintained a sense of invincibility that is more commonly found in teens and madmen. He has still not decided which he is more reminded of.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to explain the significance of the book any time soon,” William says dryly, and lowers himself into one of the hard, straight-backed chairs that they have been provided with down here in the labs. Walter’s eyes light up, like a cat with a new toy, and he carefully sets the thin red book down on the floor. William eyes him warily as he stands, and as long and lean as he himself is, he is constantly amazed by the _substance_ of Walter, by all the height and wiry muscle that he hides behind a carefully-formulated hunch and his expressive and distracting hands.

“Show a little imagination,” Walter admonishes, and spreads his long legs over William’s lap, peering down at him with soft brown eyes and those _curls_. Their positioning has left William at eye-level with Walter’s groin, and now he observes with interest how proximity and anticipation have taken their toll, and he lifts his hands to press his thumbs together above Walter’s pubic bone, framing his erection with deft palms.

“Your wife,” he murmurs, and looks up to find Walter’s expression almost…tender.

“Love and science,” he responds, fitting his own hands over the curve of William’s ears, stroking the tips of his thumbs over zygomatic arch, coronoid process, the bulk of the mandible. William allows his eyes to close.

“When we married,” he continues haltingly, “she knew, going in, that there were some things she would never be able to give me.”

“Science,” William murmurs, but Walter shakes his head.

“Love,” he corrects fondly, and leans down to fit their mouths together.


End file.
